A Beautiful Mess
by Demolition.Lover.14
Summary: It took her years to sort her life out. After moving into 221C, it only took a few minutes for her life to unwravel again.
1. Chapter 1

_**1.**_

"Mrs Hudson is renting out 221C," John said casually, pulling his jacket on, preparing to meet Mary. "She's finally sorted out the damp problem."

"Brilliant," Sherlock said dryly.

"Apparently someone is coming over for a viewing today, so please try not to upset them."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Well, you do this thing where you analyse people and utterly humiliate them in front of everyone and put them off ever wanting to talk to you again," John explained, picking up his keys. "So don't do that. Just be nice."

"I cannot refrain myself from pointing out what is obvious, John," Sherlock said. "You of all people should know that."

John huffed, looking at Sherlock with exasperation; ever since his suicide was proven a fake, he'd been unbearable. People were reluctant to turn to him for help and it was obviously driving the consulting detective mad.

"I'll be back later." John smiled. "Be nice."

Sherlock shot John a scathing look as his flat mate left. He was never not nice to people, they just seemed to take offence to everything he said.

His gun lay on the table.

* * *

"Wow," Evie said, spinning around. Her brown eyes were wide and shining with excitement as she grinned, looking at Mrs Hudson. "I love it. It's perfect, it really is."

"I'm glad you like it," Mrs Hudson said with a smile. "There's been a few problems with damp and whatnot but now it's finally sorted."

"I can't believe I'm the only person viewing it."

"Well." Mrs Hudson's smile faltered slightly. "That may have something to do with my other tenants."

At the sound of footsteps, Mrs Hudson looked over her shoulder and called, "John! Come and meet Evie!"

"Hi," John said with a pleasant smile. "I'm John."

"I know, I've read your blog," Evie said, shaking his hand. "I'm Evie."

"Nice to meet you, Evie. Sorry, I've got to run but I am apologising in advance for anything Sherlock says. He does it to everyone, don't be offended."

Evie's grin widened even more and she said goodbye to John.

"He seems alright," she said to Mrs Hudson.

"Oh yes, John's lovely, it's just Sherlock I worry about."

Sherlock Holmes. The name sent excitement through Evie, the thought of living in the flat below him making her heart leap. He was a genius; his faked suicide was the headline for weeks, it was that incredible.

Evie looked around the flat again. It was light, spacious, in need of a paint but she could easily do that. And the rent was cheap.

"I love it," she said again. "When can I move in?"

"Oh, you really like it? That's fantastic, dear. I can get the paperwork for tomorrow if you're that keen."

"That would be great, thank you."

"It's no problem." Mrs Hudson beamed at the eager young woman.

"So," Evie said, following Mrs Hudson out into the hallway. "is . . . he really that bad?"

The sound of gunshot suddenly echoed throughout the building. Evie screamed, instinctively ducking with her arms thrown over her head when it was followed by two more gunshots. Standing up, she stared at Mrs Hudson, who didn't even look perturbed. In fact, she looked annoyed, like it was a regular occurence.

"That's your answer," she said. "I suppose now would be the best time to introduce you."

"Yeah," Evie said shakily, following Mrs Hudson upstairs. Did Sherlock regularly shoot at walls? How did John live like that?

"Sherlock!" the landlady called. "I've told you before not to shoot at my wall!" Opening the door, she glared at the gun wielding detective. "I don't care how bored you are."

"I heard a scream," Sherlock commented. "Female, young . . . about twenty four, twenty five. The new tenant, I presume?"

"Yes, the new tenant," Mrs Hudson said, gesturing Evie forwards. "Sherlock, this is Evie. She'll be moving in downstairs."

"Hello," Evie said with a smile and held her hand out. Sherlock looked at it, met her eyes for a brief second and turned his back on her, stepping over the coffee table to put the gun away. Evie slowly withdrew her hand, letting it fall to her side.

"Is John not in?" Mrs Hudson asked, bustling in and cleaning up some of the mess on the table despite being the landlady, not the housekeeper.

"No." Sherlock crouched in his armchair. "He's out."

"With Mary? How nice."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and threw his legs out from beneath him, falling into his chair. His eyes rested on Evie, who was standing in the doorway still. Her eyes were flickering around the room with open curiosity.

She had light hair that hadn't been dyed and was right handed. She had brothers as she displayed tomboy tendencies but was determined to look feminine, as she wore a floral dress and converses. There was mud on the sole from where she'd been walking and they were old, which was why they were slowly falling apart. The bead bracelet she wore was cheap, home made probably by a child. Her child. She didn't have a lover; she was wearing a male's ring on a chain around her neck, but there was no tan line on her finger to indicate that she'd been engaged or married. She'd moved to London only recently.

Finally, Evie realised that Sherlock was looking at her. She blushed.

"Are you analysing me?" she asked with a slight teasing tone, stifling a grin. He raised an eyebrow.

"He does it to everyone, dear, don't take it personally," Mrs Hudson called.

Grinning, Evie asked, "Did you find anything interesting?"

"How old is your daughter?"

"Six." Evie's grin widened. "Want to see a picture?"

"Not particularly."

"I would," Mrs Hudson offered, shooting Sherlock a sharp look. She awed at the photo Evie had in her purse. "She's beautiful."

"Thanks." Evie looked at Sherlock. "Is that all you found?"

"Of course not," Sherlock retorted. "But that is the only thing I care about."

That was a lie; he wanted to know who the ring belonged to.

Evie raised an eyebrow before saying to Mrs Hudson, "I should get going, Mrs Hudson. I've got to pick my daughter up. I'll be back around twelve tomorrow if that's alright?"

"That's absolutely fine, dear."

"Great. Thank you for . . . well, everything I guess." Evie grinned at Sherlock. "Bye Sherlock."

Her hair swung over her shoulder as she spun around, lightly running down the steps. Sherlock looked at the spot she'd been standing in.

She seems like a lovely girl," Mrs Hudson said. Sherlock made a noise of agreement under his breath, picking up his violin. "She'll be good company."

"I don't need good company."

"Well if John were to move out - " Mrs Hudson cut herself off when she saw the look on Sherlock's face. He didn't want to think about John moving out. "She's a lovely girl," she repeated quietly.

* * *

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Did you meet her?"

"If by her you are referring to Evie, then yes, I did. Before you ask," Sherlock added. "I did not offend her."

"Really?" John frowned. "You didn't scare her off?"

Sherlock glared at John.

"You really didn't insult her?"

"Apparently not. She seemed quite awed by my mere presence."

"Don't be smug, Sherlock." John sat down with his laptop. "Still, it would be nice if we could be friends," he murmured absent mindedly.

"I don't have friends," Sherlock muttered. Looking up, John smiled.

The evening was spent with Sherlock playing his violin, deep in thought, and John typing away on his laptop while, on the other side of London, a young woman put her daughter to bed and dreamed of a new life in Baker Street.


	2. Chapter 2

_**2.**_

Evie and her daughter moved in the next week.

"We should go say hello," John said.

"Why?"

"Because it's the neighbourly thing to do, welcoming her to Baker Street."

"She's visited on multiple occasions, John, we don't need to welcome her," Sherlock muttered, lying on the sofa and staring up at the ceiling. There were three nicotine patches on his arm.

"Do you really have anything better to do?" John asked him, standing at the end of the sofa by Sherlock's feet. When Sherlock failed to move, he added, "You don't even have to get dressed if you don't want to."

"If I go will you leave me in peace for the remainder of the day?"

"Yes."

Sherlock stood up. Rolling his eyes, John walked down to 221C.

The door was open and the smell of paint lingered in the air. Standing in the doorway, John gently knocked on the open door and peered inside.

"Only us," he called.

"John, hi!" Evie said brightly, walking out into the living room and beaming at them both. Her long shirt covered her shorts and was covered in various paint stains. "Sorry, Riley and I were painting." She grimaced. "Well, I'm painting. Riley's just making a mess."

"No I'm not!" A small hurricane in the shape of a six year old girl came hurtling into the room, nearly slamming into Evie's legs. Her excitement faltered slightly when she saw John and Sherlock standing in the doorway.

"Riley, this is John and Sherlock," Evie introduced, cupping the back of her daughter's head with her hand. "They live upstairs."

Clinging onto Evie's leg for comfort, Riley peered up at them with her wide brown eyes. They rested on Sherlock, her brow furrowing slightly.

"Why are you wearing your pyjamas?" she asked him. "Are you sick?"

"No, I am not sick."

"Then why are you wearing your pyjamas? It's the middle of the day!"

"Don't be rude, Riley," Evie scolded. Sherlock rolled his eyes; he'd never cared much for children. They were loud, boisterous and asked too many questions.

"It's alright," John said with a smile, crouching so he could make eye contact with Riley. "Sherlock isn't ill, he's just a very silly man."

Riley giggled, covering her mouth with glee, and John grinned as he straightened up. He could feel Sherlock's eyes glaring at the back of his head furiously.

"We were about to have a tea break," Evie announced, smiling at her daughter. "Do you two want to come in?"

"That would be lovely, thanks," John answered before Sherlock could interject, grinning over his shoulder at the consulting detective. Sherlock glowered at him.

"Can we have biscuits?" Riley asked hopefully.

"Only a couple or you won't eat your tea."

The flat was very bright and colourful. The shelves were bursting with books and all of them were falling apart, ripped at the seams and well read, and covered in the various things that Riley had made at school. There were photos, lots of photos, and postcards in frames, all of them from the theatre. There were cushions on the sofa and the armchair and the DVD collection was dominated by Riley's films. There were various boxes that still weren't unpacked, all of them marked with Evie's hasty scrawl.

"It's a nice place you've got here," John said, looking around. "You've made it look really good."

"Thanks," Evie said with a smile, bringing out their drinks on a tray. Riley followed her with a biscuit tin.

"Are you really the world's greatest detective?" she asked Sherlock, staring up at him with the same curious gaze of her mother.

"No," Sherlock said dryly. "I am the world's only consulting detective."

"What's that?"

"I do what the police can't do."

"Do you lock up the bad guys?"

"No, that is the job of the police."

"But you do what they can't do."

"What do you want to be when you're older, Riley?" John asked, interjecting before Sherlock could snap at the young girl and make her upset and Evie angry.

"A bus driver," Riley said decidedly, helping herself to a biscuit.

"A bus driver?" Sherlock repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"She's six. She'll change her mind a thousand and one times before she actually gets a job," Evie said, fondly rolling her eyes.

"No I won't," Riley insisted stubbornly. "I want to be a bus driver."

"What about a taxi driver?" Evie asked, not noticing the way that both John and Sherlock stiffened in their seats. Riley scrunched her nose up.

"Taxi drivers are boring, you only drive one person about. I want to take loads of people everywhere!"

"Well, it's better than being a hooker," Evie muttered. "Oi, that's your third biscuit, missus."

Giggling, Riley bit into her third biscuit and scrambled up onto the armchair, her legs swinging. Evie shook her head, perching on the arm.

"So," she said, sipping her tea. "is there anything I need to know?"

John and Sherlock exchanged glances, both of them frowning.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, do you have any arch enemies I should know about? It's dreadfully inconvenient being targeted when you've got a daughter to look after."

Evie's tone was light and she was quite obviously stifling a grin. John smirked.

"There is one," Sherlock said. "and if he offers you money, take it. We can split it."

"I'm not sure I'd feel comfortable accepting money from your arch enemy."

"I don't see why not. It won't be like accepting it after performing sexual favours."

"What are sexual favours, Mum?" Riley asked, looking up at Evie.

"Something you must never perform," Evie told her solemnly. "In fact, never repeat that phrase outside this flat, ok?"

"What phrase?"

Evie grinned and gently tweaked Riley's nose, making her daughter giggle.

"Can I know your arch enemy's name?" she asked Sherlock.

"It's Mycroft," John said. "He's Sherlock's brother so don't be worried if he does suddenly abduct you for an hour or two."

"Just offer him some cake, he won't refuse," Sherlock muttered.

"What?"

"Never mind." Sherlock shook his head impatiently, looking around and making deductions, the only form of entertainment he could find. Evie was obviously a fan of musical theatre. "How many musicals have you seen?"

"I've lost count." Evie didn't seem surprised that he'd noticed the postcards. "What was the last one we saw, Riley?"

"The one with the miserable people."

"Les Miserable," Evie corrected fondly. "Obviously it didn't make the same impression on Riley as it did on me."

"I liked it," Riley said indignantly. "They were just really miserable."

"You did fancy the man playing Marius though."

"No I didn't!"

Sherlock's eyes rested on the ring around Evie's neck, narrowing slightly. It was definitely a man's, it was far too big to fit on her slim fingers, and well looked after; it looked as if she polished it. He wondered if there was a connection between the ring and her daughter; Riley was a unisex name. Perhaps she named after the owner of the ring?

Riley reached out for another biscuit and Evie gently slapped her hand away, scowling.

"I'm putting these away," she said, much to Riley's disappointment. "So, do you get paid much? Doing consulting detective work?"

"It pays the bills."

"That exciting, huh?"

"What do you do?"

"I work from home. It's a family business. I bake and my cousin sells it in her cafe."

"You must be a good baker then," John joked.

"Mum's cakes are the best," Riley said seriously, trying to look grown up but only looking more child-like. Her innocence was rather endearing.

Sherlock continued to stare at Evie's ring, frowning.

Realising where his gaze was directed, Evie slowly raised her hand and touched the ring, twirling it in her fingers. Her whole demeanour changed as she touched it, her bright eyes turning dull and her smile fading slightly.

"I should probably get back to painting," she said. "I want to get Riley's room done as soon as possible."

"Oh. Thanks for the tea," John said, looking slightly flustered as he stood up.

"Thanks for coming over, it was nice to have a chat."

"That was weird," John muttered as Evie shut the door behind them, looking up at Sherlock. "That was weird, wasn't it?"

"That ring," Sherlock said, striding past John and upstairs. "It obviously has personal significance, a gift from a male loved one I believe. It's old but she polishes it to keep it in good condition, why?"

"Because rings need polishing?" John suggested. Sherlock gave him a scathing look, picking up his phone.

A wide grin suddenly split across his face and he whirled around to face John, looking like a child on Christmas morning.

"Get your coat, John!" he said. "We've got a case!"

* * *

Thank you MissPadawan and obsessivelyfanaticgw09 (of course I remember you! Great to hear from you again!) for reviewing!


	3. Chapter 3

_**3.**_

"Hurry up, Riley, or you'll be late!"

"Coming!"

Huffing, Evie leaned against the banister, checking the time on her phone. She straightened up as the front door opened.

"John, hi," she said with a smile. "Why are you up so early?"

"Milk." He held up the milk carton he was carrying. "We ran out and Sherlock didn't tell me until about half an hour ago."

Evie laughed sympathetically. "Sounds like we both have irritating flatmates. Riley takes forever to get ready for school. Did you two go out yesterday afternoon, by the way?"

"Yeah, we had a case."

"I thought so."

"I'm ready," Riley announced, stumbling out into the hallway with her laces undone and her cardigan buttoned up rather lopsidedly. Evie sighed, picking Riley up.

"You're a mess," she muttered, putting Riley down on the stairs and crouching in front of her, quickly tying up her daughter's laces. John waited patiently, watching Evie deftly button up Riley's cardigan properly. "Have you brushed your hair?" she asked suddenly, frowning.

"Yes."

"Liar. Wait here."

Sitting on the stairs, Riley gave John a guilty grin that he could only return.

"What year are you in at school?" he asked her, deciding that he might as well make conversation while he waited.

"Year one," she replied promptly, still grinning. "We're doing painting in art today."

"Really?"

Riley nodded eagerly. "I like finger painting the best by Mrs Hay won't let us do it anymore because I got paint all over."

"Is this the finger painting incident?" Evie asked, carrying a brush. "If you come home covered in paint today, you don't get desert."

"But - "

"No buts, young lady. I'm not washing your uniform on a Monday."

Evie tugged the brush through Riley's hair, ignoring her as she squirmed uncomfortably.

"There, you look almost presentable now. Come on, we need to get you to school." Standing up, Evie said, "Sorry John, we've been in your way."

"No, no, it's no problem. It's nice talking to someone, you know, normal."

"Us? Normal?" Evie asked, frowning.

"Alright, more normal than Sherlock."

"I heard that," Sherlock called from 221b.

"How does he do that?" Evie asked incredulously.

"I use my senses."

Jumping, Evie looked up at Sherlock, who was standing at the top of the stairs. Looking guilty, she picked Riley up, swung her daughter around and placed her feet firmly on the ground.

"See you later," she said, taking Riley by the hand.

"Bye!" Riley said brightly, waving.

"Bye. Have a nice day at school, Riley."

"How pleasant it must be to lead such boring, mundane lives," Sherlock commented as the door shut behind Riley.

"Shut up." John strode past Sherlock and put the milk in the fridge. "I'm going out."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm meeting Mary, I did tell you." He patted his pockets to make sure he still had his phone and key. "Obviously you weren't listening. Again."

"What if I need you?"

"You'll be fine on your own."

"I need to think aloud, John, that's why I need you," Sherlock said.

"If that's all you need me for then take Evie. She's a lot smarter than you think."

"Evie?" Sherlock repeated, his nose screwed up as he watched John stride past him. "She's a baker, John. She makes cakes for a living."

"You need to think aloud and I'm no smarter than she is," John replied with a hint of exasperation in his voice. "Go alone if you want but don't complain to me when your mind doesn't work properly."

"My mind always works properly!"

* * *

"Alright, I'm coming," Evie called, covering the freshly baked cakes she'd taken out of the oven and striding across her flat to open the door. Whoever was on the other side was knocking loudly and repeatedly. "Sherlock, hi."

"I need you."

"What for?" she asked, frowning up at him.

"Lestrade just texted me. There's a case and I need you to come with me."

Excitement blossomed inside of Evie, but she supressed it as she gazed up at Sherlock, still frowning.

"Is John with Mary?"

"We are wasting time, Evie," Sherlock said impatiently. "Are you coming or not?"

She grinned. "Give me a minute."

Sherlock waited in the doorway while Evie made sure that the oven was off, pulling her coat on and slipping her feet into her boots. Grabbing her keys, she followed Sherlock out.

"So am I a replacement for John?" she asked, jogging to keep up with his long legged strides.

"Yes," Sherlock said honestly. "but you're both a replacement for Yorick."

"Yorick?"

"My skull."

"Oh."

Sherlock stopped so suddenly that Evie walked straight into him, stumbling backwards. He gave her a scathing look before hailing a taxi, holding the door open for Evie.

"What sort of case is it?" she asked him eagerly.

"Are you going to keep asking questions?"

"Probably."

Sherlock sighed, loudly, and mentally scolded himself for inviting Evie in the first place; she was worse than John with her excitement and eagerness and admiration of his observations.

"Presumed suicide."

"Will there be a body?" was Evie's instant reply.

"Considering it is a suicide case, there will most likely be a body present," Sherlock sneered, glancing at Evie. She didn't look worried, but rather thoughtful. "Will that be a problem?"

"Nope," she said casually, popping the 'p', and the taxi pulled up outside the block of flats that was surrounded by police officers and yellow tape.

"Sorry, sir, you can't come in here," one of them said to Sherlock.

"Of course I can, I'm Sherlock Holmes."

The young man's eyes widened slightly. "I'm sorry, Mr Holmes, but - "

"Just fetch Lestrade for me, will you?"

Evie grinned as the young man scuttled off and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Well well well, look who's here."

"Sergeant Donovan," Sherlock acknowledged with a curt nod, eyes searching for Lestrade. Donovan smirked, looking Evie up and down.

"Funny idea for a first date, freak."

"I'm not his date," Evie said curtly. "Maybe you should sort out your own love life before you start making assumptions about Sherlock's."

Donovan glared at Evie, who looked back at her with a raised eyebrow, as if daring the older woman to challenge her. With a huff, Donovan pivoted on her heels and strode away. Sherlock smirked.

"That was impressive," he commented.

"She was obviously wearing that shirt yesterday," Evie said, her eyes on Donovan. "and she reeked of cologne."

"Anderson's."

"Which one is Anderson?"

Sherlock pointed Anderson out to Evie and she screwed her nose up, grimacing.

"First date?" Lestrade called, striding towards them and wearing an inappropriately bright grin. Sherlock gave him a sour look. Evie grinned back.

"No," she said. "I'm Evie. It's nice to meet you."

"Greg Lestrade." They shook hands and Lestrade grinned at Sherlock again. "I like this one. You can bring her again."

Sherlock supressed the urge to roll his eyes at Lestrade's obvious appeal to Evie; she was young and attractive, so it was hardly surprising. Lestrade lifted the tape.

"Wait," he said as Evie made to follow Sherlock under. "Are you a doctor?"

"She's a substitute for John. Come, Evie, there's nothing like your first crime scene."

Smiling brightly, Evie thanked Lestrade and ducked under the tape, scurrying after Sherlock. Lestrade was left momentarily dumbstruck, but quickly followed them.

Evie faltered slightly when she saw the dead body still lying on the ground, the head surrounded by blood and one of his legs sticking out at a funny angle. She held back while Sherlock crouched by it, taking out his magnifying glass.

"Don't worry, I still don't like seeing them," Lestrade said comfortingly. "I still remember my first time seeing a body."

"This isn't my first time," Evie said quietly. Sherlock looked up at her.

"His name was Howard Cooper," Lestrade told him.

"Which flat was he in?"

"Third floor but - "

Standing up, Sherlock walked inside briskly, gesturing for Evie to follow. She ran after him.

"What are we looking for?" she asked him as they reached the apartment, the front door already open so forensics.

"We aren't looking, we're observing."

Sherlock went straight to the man's bedroom and Evie, pulling on a pair of gloves given to her by one of the forensics team, started to look through the kitchen. She opened the fridge, which was nearly full. There were two crates of beer in the bottom shelf and a bowl covered in cling film on the top shelf. Picking it up, Evie peeled back the cling film and sniffed.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, making Evie jump. He'd appeared behind her so suddenly.

"Chicken marinating in something," she said, holding the bowl up for him to smell.

Shutting the door, she looked at the various scraps of paper that were stuck on by magnets. There were photos and receipts and little reminders that he'd obviously written himself.

"Look." She pointed at the calendar. "He was having a party this weekend."

Sherlock frowned and started to search through the various bills on the kitchen table; Howard hadn't been in any kind of financial trouble or in debt. There was no medication in his apartment to indicate a mental illness either.

"People don't just kill themselves on a whim," Evie said when Sherlock voiced his thoughts to her. "It's planned, people literally spend months planning their suicide."

"It wasn't a suicide, it was murder," Sherlock said, his eyes shining with a strange excitement that made Evie slightly worried. Before she could say anything, he rushed past her, running up the stairs.

Sighing, Evie peeled off her gloves.

"Wait for me!"

* * *

Thank you meganlloyd16 for reviewing!


	4. Chapter 4

_**4.**_

"I'm not hungry."

"I've been given strict instructions to make sure that you eat something."

"By who?"

"John, of course."

Sherlock was stubborn, but it appeared that Evie was just as stubborn, if not more so. Crossing her arms, she fixed him with a stern gaze that would've made a lesser man tremble in his boots. Sherlock merely glared at her.

"He said that I can do anything in my power to make you come downstairs and eat with us," she told him. "and considering you almost pushed me off a roof today, the least you can do is have dinner with me."

"I did not almost push you off the roof - "

"Yes you did."

Sherlock continued to glare at her and Evie shifted her weight from one foot to the other, popping her hip out. She wasn't budging from his doorway.

"If I agree to have dinner with you and Riley, will you leave me be for the rest of the evening?"

"Yep."

"Fine."

Evie grinned triumphantly, spinning around and bounding down the stairs. Sherlock reluctantly followed her to 221c, where Riley was playing a rather violent game with a stuffed dog and a Barbie doll; it look as if the dog was mauling the doll to death.

"It's nearly ready so make yourself comfortable," Evie said over her shoulder. "Riley, put your toys away and sit at the table, please."

Riley continued in her game and Sherlock watched as she made the dog jump up and down on the doll repeatedly, accompanied by loud growling sounds from Riley.

"Riley."

Grumbling, Riley reluctantly put a stop to her game and clambered into a chair, still clutching the toy dog to her chest. She looked up at Sherlock.

"Did you catch the bad guy?" she asked, her legs swinging under the table.

"There isn't enough evidence thanks to Anderson," Sherlock muttered.

"Who's Anderson?"

"He's an idiot."

Riley giggled at Sherlock using the word idiot and Evie served dinner; home made soup and half a loaf of bread.

"It's carrot and chilli," she told Sherlock, who looked down his nose at the bowl put in front of him. She ignored his distaste, cutting the bread and putting a slice on the plate by Riley.

"It's yummy," Riley told him.

"You never did explain how you came to your conclusion today," Evie said, dunking her bread into her soup. Conscious that Riley was sitting at the table, Sherlock chose his words carefully. He didn't touch the food in front of him, which Evie chose to ignore.

"He had no reason," he said, eyes flickering to Riley, who was blissfully unaware. She was pushing a large chunk of bread around the bowl, watching the soup separate beneath her spoon. "You said so yourself, it wasn't a spontaneous decision."

Evie frowned, looking thoughtful. Her forehead creased slightly as her eyebrows pulled together.

"Stop playing with your soup, Riley," she said. "I don't understand . . . why would someone . . . do that?"

"Do what?" Riley asked, looking up.

"Nothing."

"They must've done something," Riley said, frowning.

"It isn't anything for you to be concerned about," Sherlock told her and Riley looked sullen, lifting a spoonful of soup into her mouth. Evie rolled her eyes at her daughter but didn't say anything about her behaviour.

"Have you told John?"

"He's with Mary. I thought texting him would ruin the ambiance."

"He really likes her, doesn't he?" Evie smiled and Sherlock made a noise of agreement under his breath. "Do you think he'll move in with her at some point?"

Sherlock grimaced and shrugged half heartedly.

When they were all finished, Evie insisted that Sherlock stay for a cup of tea and while she put the kettle on, Riley slid off her seat.

"Do you wanna see the picture I drew today?" she asked, her brown eyes shining eagerly.

"I don't suppose saying no will make a difference, will it?"

"I'll go get it!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and decided that feigning interest would probably be the best way to approach Riley, otherwise Evie wouldn't be as willing to be John's substitute when he needed her to be.

The picture was as well drawn as a child her age could manage and he could just about manage to read the messy handwriting at the top as 'My Family'.

"That's my uncle Mark, and that's my uncle Tommy, and that's my grandpa," Riley told him, pointing at each stick figure in turn. "That's my daddy and that's my mummy."

"Who's this?" Sherlock asked, pointing at the figure in the sky that seemed to be sitting on a cloud.

"That's my uncle Riley. He's in Heaven."

Ah. That explained the ring Evie wore around her neck; it must've belonged to her brother.

"It's very good. Well done."

Riley beamed, taking the drawing from him, and Evie smiled from the kitchen doorway. She hadn't witnessed Riley's explanation of her drawing, only Sherlock praising her for it.

"Are you sure you don't like children?" she teased, handing him his mug.

"I never said that I disliked them," Sherlock pointed out.

"No, but I could tell from the first time that you met Riley you didn't like children," Evie said with a grin, sipping her tea. "You're not the only one who can observe."

"There is hope for you yet, it would seem."

Evie beamed, looking pleased with herself.

"It's a bit weird, isn't it?" she asked quietly, stirring her tea with a spoon. "Someone being . . . killed in the same way that you supposedly did it."

Both of them glanced at Riley, but she was focused on drawing a new picture, her tongue stuck out with concentration.

"I don't think it was a coincidence," Sherlock muttered, sipping his tea. Evie sighed.

"I hoped you wouldn't say that."

* * *

Thank you morganclaire1 and meganlloyd16 for reviewing!


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